October Part 1

KPOV

I'm sat at one of the tables with Delly, wrapping cutlery in napkins for the customers to help themselves to this lunchtime.

"God, my feet are killing me," she groans, flexing her feet within her ballet flats. "Oh sod it," she huffs, kicking off her shoes. "I'll regret that when I can't get my fat feet back into them but oh that feels so much better."

She leans back rubbing her swollen belly. "I can't wait not to be pregnant any more. Don't get me wrong I want this, we planned this, but surely I'm supposed to be glowing not just growing!"

I'm only half listening to her, as I wrap I'm watching Peeta writing on the window in white marker pens.

When I first started I thought it was Delly who was responsible for the artistic announcements in the windows and on the blackboards, but I soon discovered that it was actually Peeta's elegant, flowing script that broadcasts the daily specials to everyone. Right now he's stood on the pavement checking the new adornment to the window he's been working on.

I watch him out the corner of my eye, making sure to continue with the wrapping of the cutlery and hopefully giving the impression that I'm still listening to Delly.

"Fuck! Fucking slut!" Peeta expels, just as a very shocked elderly woman walks past him. She hurries on with a disgusted look and he nods with a jerk and blinks furiously. He tries to carry on working but his continued head jerking is obviously stopping him.

He pauses. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he shakes out his arms and rolls his neck. It reminds me of a boxer warming up, getting ready to enter the ring. It must work as he's able to start writing on the window again and I watch as he finishes writing about autumn specials and begins to draw some beautifully detailed autumn leaves.

It takes me a second to realise that I've become so totally distracted by the way his biceps look in the tight white t-shirt that he's wearing, that I've stopped wrapping cutlery and also that Delly has stopped talking.

"So…uh… how long have you and Thom been together?" I hurriedly ask.

I do a good job of actively listen to her animated ramble about how the two of them met in college, but I've half tuned out by the time she tells me how long they've been living together.

"So how did you get into business with Peeta?" I try my hardest to look casual, as I nod towards where the depiction of falling autumn leaves now fills the window.

"We've known each other for years, since school. We always joked about opening a place like this, and then we just thought why not, lets really do this. Peeta's an amazing cook it would have been a waste not to give him this opportunity."

"Is Peeta married too?" I ask.

"Peeta?"

"Um… yes," I frown, slightly disconcerted by her complete shock that I should even suggest it.

"No, he's not in a relationship. Things are…it's hard for him you know." I'd like to press her further but she already looks beyond guilty that she's even discussing him this much.

"Shit-sticks!" I chuckle at the loud expletive from Peeta. "That one always makes me smile," I explain, but Delly just frowns disapprovingly at me. I want to explain I'm not laughing at him, but guiltily I wonder if perhaps I am and I find the thought disturbing.

Friday lunchtime is always crazy but it seems even busier today and it's about 3 o'clock, and after we've run out of pretty much everything, that it finally slows down again.

Peeta comes out of the kitchen to collect the trays that when full hold the daily selection of cakes and scones, a task that is ordinarily Rory's job.

Peeta has an apron on and a fuck ugly pair of checked chef's trousers, but I'm not looking at them. I'm looking at the way his arms look in that tight white t-shirt again.

Two girls at a table close to the other side of the bar, start whispering with their heads close together.

"Check the guy out behind the bar."

"I know, he's kind of cute but…"

"Cute he's like…

a Greek god, I mentally suggest.

..so hot"

Huh, I snort at her pathetically inadequate praise. I like my description much better.

"Yeah but Octavia knows a girl who went on a date with him and he screamed out "fish" in the middle of the restaurant. I know, weird huh? But that's not all, he ended up calling the waitress a slut. She said it was the most embarrassing night of her life."

I glance at Peeta, just as he looks up and catches my eye. I don't think he can have heard the girls from where he's standing but he still blinks violently like I've noticed he does when he's nervous, or uncomfortable, or basically whenever he speaks to me.

He screws up his eyes as his chin forces its way upwards, and he fights to contain whatever he's about to blurt, his fingers pressed forcefully to his lips.

He makes it back into the kitchen before I hear the expulsion of, "come on your tits!"

"Freak," one of the girls at the table mutters.

I glare at them both, staring them down until they are forced to drop their eyes to the table, shame faced.

Foul-mouthed angel, cursed Greek god perhaps, but Peeta Mellark is absolutely not a freak.

. ~ .

PPOV

Sometimes I really hate the fact that Delly is always right. It was her idea to start opening the café late on Friday and Saturday nights. She was convinced that there would be enough trade, when I wasn't so sure. She talked me into creating a simple tapas inspired menu and now we're always packed, people choosing to stand and eat at the bar when there's no table space. It makes for a long week though and there are plenty of times, like this evening, when I'd rather be sat on the couch at home with a cold beer watching crap on the box instead.

Delly went home about an hour ago after it was clear she was dead on her feet. Rory, Mitchell - one of our weekend staff - and I are chatting as we get ready to leave, having finally finished clearing up. Our conversation is interrupted by the roar of a motorbike as it pulls up outside and is then noisily revved by its rider.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," Rory grumbles, with a sour look on his face.

Katniss comes out from the back at that point. She's changed her clothes, well somewhat. She's wearing the same boots and leggings that are a constant staple of her wardrobe, but instead of the baggy dark green top she's been wearing all day, she's changed into a short skintight black jersey dress. It hugs her curves and stops at a point mid-thigh that I can't take my eyes off.

"Seriously Katniss?" Rory says, as Katniss slips on her jacket. "You're back, like what, a week and you're dating that dickhead Cato again?"

"Oh Rory," she sighs, patting his cheek like he's a little boy, even though he's a good foot taller than her. "You know I don't date, I just …"

"Fuck?" he finishes for her with blunt humour.

She doesn't argue with him, just shrugs and gives him a smirk that says he's right.

The rider outside gives another impatient rev of his engine but Katniss ignores him, taking her time as she fastens the buttons on her jacket.

"Is that why you've moved in with Jo then?" Rory queries.

"Hazelle doesn't need the disruption of me coming and going late at night," Katniss responds.

"It's the coming that makes all the noise," he says, baiting her with a mischievous grin. But she doesn't rise to his remark, just casually raises her middle finger at him over her shoulder as she heads towards the door. Instead, unexplainably, it's me who is left with heated cheeks from Rory's comment.

I watch as Katniss takes the proffered helmet from the rider's outstretched hand. Putting it on as she straddles the bike behind him. Her dress rides up higher, exposing the hole in her threadbare leggings that seems to grow larger every time she wears them. Then wrapping her arms about the rider, who revs the engine unnecessarily once again, the bike speeds off, cutting across on-coming traffic to disappear amidst beeping horns.

. ~ .

KPOV

I don't know what I was thinking when I texted Cato. The guy is a complete knob. We've been at the club for over an hour and he's done nothing but talk about himself and that bloody bike the whole time. He's also checked out the tits on every girl in the place and has been seriously eye-fucking the barmaid for the last ten minutes.

Not once did he ask me how my trip was, most people have at least a slight flicker of interest when you tell them you've been walking the Inca Trail, but not Cato. If it hasn't got wheels or tits he's not interested. If I'd done the trail topless on a bike, now that would be a different story.

The club is loud and hot and there's no one else here I know. I'm just not in the mood. I'm tired and I want to go to bed. Tonight was a mistake. Texting Cato was a mistake.

And the worst thing is, I do know exactly why I contacted him. The same reoccurring fantasy has been playing in my head whilst I'm alone in bed. Just as my fingers are bring me to climax, I keep picturing a blonde head of hair between my legs, blue eyes looking up at me and I imagine it's his tongue and not my fingers I can feel.

Cato - blonde hair and blue eyes. That's why he's here this evening. Only, despite what I've been telling myself, I know perfectly well that those blue eyes in my fantasy don't belong to him. And Cato sure as hell never felt as good as the fantasy when he actually did deign to go down on me in real life.

I lean in close to Cato's ear so he can hear me over the music, "I'm tired." I see his eyes drop to my cleavage as I tell him, "I just want to go home."

He agrees without argument and drives me to Jo's house where I'm staying whilst I'm back in town. I'm surprised when he gets off his bike to walk me to the front door, its uncharacteristically gentlemanly of him, but when I open the door he steps in with me.

"Look Cato it was nice to see you tonight, but I'm knackered, I just want to go to bed."

"Sounds like a great plan to me," he smirks, stepping us backwards, his mouth finding my neck as my back hits the wall.

"Cato." I try to push him off but he seems oblivious to my attempts, as one heavy hand slips to my ass and the other begins mauling my breast. "Cato!" I push at him harder and he stops sucking on my neck to look at me.

"I'm tired I want you to go," I state firmly.

"You're fucking joking right?" he says, looking anything but amused. "You texted me remember," he continues, with barely contained anger.

"I know, but it was a busy night at the café and I'm exhausted I'm not going to be any fun," I reason, trying to calm him.

"That's all right babe, I'll do all the work for you," he says, pushing his groin up against me and grinding his hips, in what I'm sure he tends to be an erotic way but just makes my stomach churn.

"Cato, please not tonight,' I plead and instantly realise my mistake. The thing about Cato is, he can sniff out weakness a mile a way, he thrives on it. He's just a playground bully that never grew up.

He shakes his head and grabs my wrists as I try to push him off again. "You're such a fucking prick-tease. If you weren't interested you wouldn't have been strutting around in that dress all night with your tits up in my face. I know you want it really."

"Get off of me," I growl, trying to raise my knee but the way he has my body pinned it's no use and his tightening grip on my wrists is really starting to hurt. "Ow Cato, let me go."

"You heard her, get the fuck off of her!" I turn to see Jo on the stairs, stark naked holding a baseball bat. There's a large guy behind her with an angry expression, trying to hold a sheet about his waist with one hand.

"What are you waiting for, get out here," he shouts, backing up Jo's demand.

Cato is no weakling, he spends a ridiculous amount of time down the gym lifting weights with his mates, but he has to know he's no match for the guy standing behind Jo. Jo's friend is built like a brick-shithouse. His biceps are bigger than my waist.

Cato drops my wrists and backs away.

"You can keep them both. Fucking dirty slags, you don't know where they've been,' Cato sneers. With a snarl that matches the murderous look on his face, Jo's friend takes a step forward and Cato fumbles with the door latch as he hurriedly lets himself out.

'God Katniss, Cato again? Don't you remember what bad news he was last time?" Jo scoffs incredulously, at the same time making animated jabbing motions with the baseball bat in my direction and the door that Cato's just closed. "I find it hard to comprehend how you can be so brainless when it comes to men!"

"He's usually ok unless he's been drinking," I say, gritting my teeth. I don't want this conversation, not now and certainly not in front of some random stranger.

"Are you okay," Jo asks, her face softening to something like concern, as she notices the way I'm rubbing my wrists. They really fucking smart where Cato held them bloody tightly and I know they're going to be bruised in the morning.

"I'm fine, I just want to go to bed," I tell her, as I storm past them both on the stairs and head up to my room at the top of the house.

I kick off my boots and flop down on the bed, not bothering to undress or wash first. An hour later I'm still lying there staring at the ceiling, wide awake.

Eventually I strip naked and slip under the covers. I know the failsafe way of relaxing myself to combat insomnia, is to get myself off. I let my fingers work over the increasingly heated sensitive skin between my thighs. This time there is no pretense about who and what I'm thinking about. I allow myself to indulge fully in the fantasy that it is Peeta's mouth I can feel rather than my own fingers, and its his name I end up moaning into my pillow.

. ~ .

PPOV

You know I don't date, I just …fuck.

Is that why you've moved in with Jo?

The conversation keeps rolling unwantedly around in my head.

Is Katniss really seeing one guy and living with another? Is she sleeping with them both? She didn't deny it. Not that it's any of my business. She's just my employee, and a temporary one at that, what she does outside of work has nothing to do with me. But I'm still glad that the bike guy, Cato or whatever he was called, hasn't been back since last Saturday. Especially if he is the one responsible for the bruises.

Katniss was wiping up a spillage and when she rolled up her sleeves I could see the marks on her wrists. She must have suddenly remembered I was there, because she hastily pulled her top back down to cover them up. Maybe she's into kinky stuff like being tied up and restrained and whatnot - I mean each to their own, if that's what turns her on then so be it - but it seems to me, that someone would have had to of held her pretty hard to leave her black and blue like that. I don't like thinking about it.

"Right," says Rory, taking off his apron. "If that's everything done, there's a pint with my name on it waiting for me at the Nag's Head."

It's been another busy Saturday and I'm as keen as him to get out of here. Only I'm looking forward to getting home to bed. I really must be getting old, because I can't understand how he has enough energy right now to think about going out.

Katniss and Lyme have got their coats on leaning against the bar chatting, waiting for us to lock up, when the roar of the bike outside draws everyone's attention.

"Fuck," Katniss mutters, a deep scowl on her face.

Without grabbing her bag she storms outside. Cato has taken his helmet off, and illuminated by the streetlight, I can get a good look at him this time. It doesn't surprise me that he's good looking, I didn't expect anything else from someone Katniss is seeing. He has a strong square face and closely cropped blonde hair like's just stepped out the marines or something, but despite his obvious good looks the way he's smiling at her makes him ugly.

"Who is that?" Lyme behind me asks.

"Cato. He's bad news," Rory answers grimly. "Katniss was seeing him last year before she went away. I can't believe she's back with him again. The guy is a total tosser, especially after he's had a few."

Katniss stands in front of Cato her hands on hips and her back to the café. He says something to her, as he climbs off his bike and she gesticulates angrily back as she replies. When she turns to walk away from him he grabs her and yanks her back roughly.

I hear Rory curse behind me, he takes a step forward but then stops. I can feel his hesitation. He's a tall lad, but a bit of a beanpole, whereas Cato's not just tall he's big as well, and by the look of him he could lay Rory out with one finger.

As I move closer to the door I can hear Cato's raised voice easily.

"Don't give me that bullshit. You were the one that called me the other night, not the other way round. I don't know why your acting so fucking hard to get, when we both know your gagging for it."

"Fuck you," she yells back at him and tries to pull away, but his hold on her is too strong. I see her wince as she turns her face from him and there's no question in my mind that he was the one who gave her the bruises in the first place.

I'm out the door without any hesitation.

"What are you looking at?" Cato demands, and Katniss looks back over her shoulder to see who he's talking to.

"That's my boss," she says, her voice taking on a calm reasoning tone. "Please Cato, just let go of my wrists and we can talk, alone."

Like hell I'm going to let that happen.

I blink and my chin juts violently upwards as I blurt "Fuck Fuck Off."

"What did you say to me?" Cato's face is livid.

"Please Cato, just drop it. He's got Tourette's," Katniss begins to explain. My heart sinks, knowing exactly what she's about to say. What my mother always said to people when I embarrassed her in public. I don't want to hear Katniss say it. "He can't help it, he didn't m…"

Before she can excuse my behaviour any further I stride forward closing the distance between us. "I told you to fuck off and I meant it. Now let go of her."

"Don't tell me what to do," Cato fumes, although he does drop her arms anyway, so that he can step closer to me.

He's big, way more built than I gave him credit for, and a good head taller than me too. I'm sure he expects me to be intimidated as he glares at me, most people probably are. I don't imagine he gets many people who will stand up to him but he's a bully and I hate bullies, they're the reason I took up kick boxing in the first place. Besides,his muscles look like the sort that come from sitting in a gym and lifting dead weights all day. I bet he's slow and heavy.

"Get out of here before I call the police," I warn him, almost hoping that he doesn't so I can have the pleasure of kicking his ass.

"Go ahead," he dares me, "I don't think they're going to be interested in wasting their time on a guy having a disagreement with his girlfriend."

"I am not your girlfriend!" Katniss snaps back.

"All right," he sneers at her, "having a disagreement with the cheap bint I'm shagging."

"Like that is ever going to happen again, you asshole!"

He takes a step towards her but I'm faster, putting myself between them and shoving him backwards before he can reach her. I catch him off guard, sending him stumbling, but he rights himself quicker than expected and hits out at me. Even so I'm able to dodge him easily and I bring my elbow to connect with the side of his head as his momentum brings him towards me. He staggers to the side, looking dazed.

"Get out of here," I repeat, giving him one more chance to save himself from getting a beating but he doesn't take it. Again Cato strikes out at me, but it's just all too easy. It's like watching an amateur fight amongst some of the kids at the gym. I block his arm and give him an open palm hit to his left temple. There's no way I'm going to risking breaking my knuckles on this moron's thick head. He stumbles back again, loses his footing, and ends up on his arse on the pavement.

"Katniss go call the police, tell them we have a disturbance with a customer that won't leave," I tell her, as I stare down at Cato, willing him to get up so I can hit him again.

"Don't bother I'm going, the bitch isn't worth it," he spits, as he stumbles towards his bike. He grabs his helmet, mounts his ride and speeds off.

"Are you all right?" I ask, turning to Katniss. To my surprise I find she doesn't look upset or even thankful, instead she is glaring angrily at me.

"I didn't need your help. I could have handled Cato myself," she glowers, before storming back into the café, leaving me on the pavement with my chin jerking furiously and swearing to myself.

She's grabbed her bag by the time I get back inside and bustles past me as she leaves.

"I…FUCK…I was only trying to… FUCK FUCKING SLUT….I hate bullies and I didn't want you to get hurt," I manage to tell her through the word vomit.

When she turns around her face has softened marginally. "I know you were…but just…don't do it again, ok? I can look after myself."

"Don't take it personally," Rory says, placing a hand on my shoulder as we watch her leave. "She's like that with everyone, honest mate. Like it would kill her to admit she needs help, you know. And seriously," he adds with a wry smile, "take it from me, don't ever expect a thank you!"


Hello? Is there anybody out there reading this?

Let me know if there is!